The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
by Pilleriin
Summary: A very-very belated Christmas fic.


**The Most Wonderful Time of the Year**

Boyd casts a nervous glimpse at the clock on his kitchen wall and returns to the window. The huge delivery truck still manoeuvres outside, it's driver attempting to follow the instructions of the agitatedly gesticulating plump middle-aged man. God knows what that bloody Stanley Miller is organizing there again. Boyd's pretty sure he isn't the only one in his home street who secretly wishes his former next door neighbour hadn't sold the house to that cocky upstart.  
The truck comes to a halt finally. Blocking Boyd's driveway completely, just as he had feared. Two blokes, dressed in dark blue overalls, jump out and start downloading a gigantic Christmas tree. Stanley Miller just keeps hopping and fussing around them instead of offering some help and laying hands on as well. Judging by the looks - even if they'll manage to squeeze that ridiculous heap of greenery through the Millers' front door somehow, at least a couple of feet of it still needs to be sawed off unless they don't want to risk breaking the ceiling. The whole operation will undoubtedly take a while and according to Boyd's bitter experience there's no hope anybody might come and remove that damned truck in the meantime. So much for his plan to leave in good time this morning.

He tries his best to choose the less problematic route to work when he finally gets going, but finds himself right in the middle of the usual pre-holiday traffic nightmare nevertheless. The desire to break the rules a bit and take advantage of the flashing blue lights at his disposal is very real. Unfortunately it won't have much effect in current chaos.  
He gives a sigh of hopeless resignation and turns on the car radio to listen the morning news during the unsolicited waiting.

''...it's the most wonderful time of the year...'' the nauseatingly familiar rhymes and melody fill the air instantly, making him wince and change the channel quickly.

He certainly wouldn't call the ridiculous commercial bedlam that's about to reach it's peak this weekend wonderful. If Grace were with him, she'd undoubtedly shake her head reproachfully now and call him an old cynic.

Christmas used to be his favourite holiday. Not just in childhood, much later as well, being the father of his own little boy already. The magic was still there when little Luke refused to go to bed, not wanting to miss Santa's visit, and they all ended up sleeping in the living room under the Christmas tree. It must have faded away alongside this sweet and sincere boy's transformation into a sulky and rebellious teenager who barely endured the Christmas meal with his parents, using the first opportunity to sneak out and spend the rest of the holidays hanging around in the company of 'friends' whose only goal in life seemed to be looking for trouble. It was incredibly hard to come to terms with their only child deliberately excluding them from his life, harder than ever during Christmastime. Mary's coping strategy was to seek consolation from brandy bottle. As a result of that she spent the holidays in drunken haze, either picking a quarrel and accusing him in everything that was wrong or brooding in complete silence and watching some sentimental crap on TV. In these circumstances the once most hated thing - having to work on Christmas - started to feel like blessing. When Luke left home for good and that farce of a marriage came to it's natural end he even volunteered for it, leaving the colleagues with less problematic family life a chance to fully enjoy the holidays.  
With higher ranks came the privilege of work-free holidays, unless of course something extraordinary came up. He had to invent new ways to get by these couple of days. There was of course always the option of paying a visit to his elder brother - an invitation repeated every year and politely declined with equal persistence. John and Laura had three grown and married sons and the army of grand-kids kept increasing continually. If someone wanted to experience the true old-fashioned family Christmas, their home would be the place to find that. Unfortunately he just wasn't up to it any more. He preferred being quietly on his own. With a few exceptions when office Christmas parties found spontaneous follow-up in some pub or restaurant, the outcome usually being very bad headache and some vague memories of events he'd have preferably forgotten altogether.

Nothing much to look forward to this year either.

That's what he thought last week. Grace's daughter's family was going to spend the holidays abroad in some seaside resort, so it was only natural to presume that she would go with them. To find out that she stays in London and this is going to be their first Christmas together came as a complete surprise. She has offered him many positive and pleasant surprises in past couple of months, the recent one truly being the kind of Christmas present he didn't even dare to dream of. Far too much time has passed since he last had romantic holidays and he actually hasn't got much clue what to do, but luckily Grace seems to have something in mind and she's very determined that they should spend the holidays at his place. He's OK with that and totally willing to go along with whatever she proposes. Well, at least as far as her plans don't include the kind of Christmas tree Stan Miller just got himself...

* * *

Boyd nods in greeting to the desk sergeant, then checks his wristwatch once again, as if expecting it to show some other numbers than the big clock on the wall behind the front desk. No such hope. That means he's already half an hour late for the team meeting he himself scheduled at 9 o'clock sharp. He quickens his pace instinctively on his way downstairs, though the minute or two he wins that way wouldn't really make much difference.

''Good morning everybody! Sorry to keep you waiting, that damned traffic was just...''

He stops half-sentence and remains standing on the squad-room doorstep, baffled by the weird past-time his team is engaged in. Perhaps _paperwork_ might be the word for it. There are piles of copy paper on every desk and the female members of the CCU, all armed with scissors, are busy turning one bright white sheet after another into fake snowflakes.

They've somehow managed to talk Spence into their plan as well. He's roaming around the squad-room with a glue stick and a box full of those silly pieces of paper lace, pasting them in every thinkable place.

''Isn't it beautiful!?'' Stella smiles, childishly happy. ''Like a winter wonderland!''

Boyd's grim expression leaves no doubt he doesn't particularly share her taste for interior decoration.

''This here is a police department...'', he starts, loud and disparaging.

''Which doesn't necessarily mean the people working here have to ignore the fact that the rest of the world is celebrating Christmas,'' Grace declares confidently, not letting him finish. ''This underground dungeon needed to be brightened up a little, even if it were for a few days only.''

The obvious mastermind behind the 'project' confronts him with a daring smile and Boyd opens his mouth to respond accordingly, but one small thing catches his attention. That necklace. His birthday present for her. He hasn't seen her wear it, tormenting himself a lot with the thought that she obviously hated it. She's wearing it today and it means much to him. And the colour of the gems forming the flower-shaped pendant is in perfect harmony with her deep blue eyes, just as he imagined...

Boyd realises he's completely forgotten what he was about to say. He frowns, just out of confusion initially, but letting it develop into a surly scowl to express his disapproval at least this way. It's probably for the better he didn't get to blurt out his first thought. A few carelessly said words and he could have ruined the whole promising year end for them both.

While he has to watch his steps with Grace, he's still the head of this unit and it won't hurt to remind that to his direct subordinates.

''In case this glue's going to leave marks, repainting the walls will be financed from your salary,'' he warns his DI in earnest.

''You hear this, Spence,'' Eve chuckles, '' if you're going to pay for the paint it's only fair you'll get to choose the colour as well. I strongly recommend to go for something much less depressing than the current one!''

She takes a sequent sheet of paper, folds it a couple of times and reaches for her scissors.

Boyd regards it reprovingly. ''Haven't you really got some more worthwhile _cutting_ to do, Dr. Lockhart?''

''Not at the moment, no,'' Eve announces cheerfully. ''By the way, the autopsy reports of the Davidson case victims are waiting for you on your desk.''

Boyd opens the door of his office with grim premonition. A sigh of relief escapes his lips - the 'snowfall' hasn't reached there yet. He very much intends to keep it this way. He hangs his coat on the rack and takes a seat briefly to run his eyes over the above mentioned reports and to give the others a moment to tidy up the desks in the squad-room. The phone on his table starts ringing demandingly and he reaches for it.

''OK class, handicraft lesson is over! We've got work!'' Boyd declares resolutely, returning to the squad-room a few minutes later.

Anticipating looks turn to him. Sounds like the already very belated routine team meeting is about to be cancelled altogether.

''We just received a generous Christmas gift, with best wishes from CID. The frozen body that was found at a public skating rink this morning is now positively identified as Robert Lincoln. That same Robert Lincoln we suspected to be connected with the unsolved casino murders and tried hard to track down three years ago. According to the preliminary estimation of the duty pathologist it's quite likely he was shot in the head and turned into an icicle about the same time. To forestall any astute suggestions - no, he didn't just melt out last night, somebody deliberately dumped him there for some reason.''

''Who wouldn't need some extra room in the fridge for turkey and ice-cream right before Christmas,'' Spence remarks, earning amused snorts from his colleagues.

''Let's get going,'' Boyd commands impatiently, ignoring the grim humour. ''I want to have a look at that skating rink first of all.''

''Superintendent Boyd on ice – what a shame I haven't got a camera,'' Grace sighs, deadpan regret on her face.

''There's a pretty good one in my standard equipment, I can take some shots for you,'' Eve offers helpfully.

Boyd gives his wayward crew a black look.

''Superintendent Boyd is going to stay on solid ground,'' he informs everybody with due dignity. ''But most of you could clearly do with some exercise to work off the excessive energy. You really should go easy on those overly sweet gingerbread cookies you've been devouring the whole week!''

* * *

By late afternoon Eve's done fair share of her habitual 'cutting' and the rest of them have dealt with slippery ice and twice as slippery witnesses who became particularly tongue-tied when asked about a certain period of time three years ago. They've now got some promising leads and a circle of potential suspects to work on with - a pretty good point to start first thing after holidays. Boyd gladly lets his colleagues leave a bit earlier, wishing he wouldn't have to call any of them out on holidays. First time in years he truly wishes he'd be able to avoid coming here himself as well.

It's most natural that he himself won't be going home yet, especially considering he was that late in the morning. That Grace exhibits her usual solidarity and stays as well doesn't surprise anyone either.

They're finally on their own in the dimly lit squad-room. On the spur of the moment Boyd just gives in to a long-suppressed temptation and pulls her into a spontaneous kiss. A promising appetizer of what's to come later when they've already a long way from here.

There have been countless moments in all those years they've worked together he's desperately wanted to do exactly that, but never dared, the outcome expectedly being a sharp slap across his cheek and a much sharper verbal one.

She does give him the apparently obligatory roll of eyes tonight, but entwines her arms around his neck a moment later, the soft sleeves of her mohair sweater pleasurably tickling his skin.

Boyd breaks the kiss suddenly, and Grace's eyebrows rise in silent question.

''Damned snowflakes,'' he complains, ''feels as if we were at a school Christmas party and headmaster Thompson is about to walk in on us any moment!''

Grace snorts amusedly. ''I suspect some very real and traumatic experience behind such fear. Perhaps you'd like to talk about it?''

''No!'' Quick and firm.

''Well, I do hope headmaster Thompson gave you the punishment you deserved,'' Grace keeps teasing. ''It's not nice to drag poor innocent girls into dark corners with highly impure intentions!''

Some revived memories bring an involuntary smirk to the corner of Boyd's mouth and he can't help confessing, '' _I_ was the one who got dragged actually...''

''Really? You must have fancied venturesome girls back in the day!''

The smile on Boyd's face becomes foxy. He blinks his eye and leans closer to whisper ''I still do!'' in her ear.

It's good that the steps of whoever is on his way towards the headquarters of the CCU echo loud enough on the concrete floor, warning them in advance so they can put safe distance between them. It's also good that unlike teenagers they don't have to worry about the tell-tale blushing any more.

* * *

Grace turns the key in the lock, opens the door and almost instinctively reaches her hand to locate the alarm panel right next to the door frame, quickly pressing the familiar combination of numbers on the keypad. In past couple of months she's spent so much time in this house she's beginning to feel quite at home.

They have spent a lot of time at her place as well, of course. In fact it all started with Boyd giving her a lift home. One of their investigations had a particularly gory outcome nobody was prepared for, leaving both of them uncharacteristically all over the place that night. He made a cautious attempt to comfort her with a clumsy hug and without really thinking she just asked him to stay with her. He did. Not just for the night but for the whole weekend. And he did not sleep on the couch.

It felt so right, so natural, making both of them wonder what on earth took them so long to finally get there. Maybe they really needed all those years to ground off the sharp corners of one another's characters in order to find blissful harmony together. Things do happen in their due time. Or a little bit later.

She puts the keys carefully back in her bag and hangs it on the rack with her coat.  
A few weeks ago Boyd so typically had no patience to wait for backup that was just minutes away and dealt himself with a suspect who brandished a large kitchen knife. While he grumpily waited at the A and E for his bloody gashes to be stitched and bandaged, she took his keys and brought him a clean shirt to replace the torn and bloodstained one that went straight to the bin. He told her to keep the keys, so she could come and go whenever she pleases. Just like that, pragmatically. Not overly romantic, considering that's supposed to mark an important stage in relationship. But it certainly is convenient, especially on occasions like tonight when Boyd unfortunately happened to be the highest ranking officer still in the building and now has to stay at work for God knows how long, helping to clear up someone else's mess.

She did return the gesture naturally and provided Boyd with keys to her house. He hasn't used them much though. It's her fault actually, not telling her family about the recent developments in her personal life and not wanting them to discover it accidentally either. She's always been a true hands-on grandmother and her daughter has got used to bring the kids over at minimum notice. It's really high time to come clear about her relationship with Boyd, so there won't be no more need for his head-over-heels departure the next time Carol calls to tell she'll be there in ten minutes with Daniel and Mandy. To put this thing right - that's Grace's new year resolution.

All she's eaten since lunch-time is a few gingerbread cookies, therefore she heads to the kitchen first of all. She hasn't been here this week, trying to spend as much time as possible with Daniel and Mandy whom she won't be seeing until the beginning of January, so she hopes Boyd's had time to go shopping. He hasn't apparently. The choice in the fridge is meagre – some bread and butter and a few slices of ham and cheese. Enough to make sandwiches for supper and breakfast for two people, but they definitely have to make a proper supermarket tour tomorrow.

She washes her plate and teacup carefully, having finished eating, and makes sure all the knives are back in their place in the holder and no breadcrumbs are left on the counter. Not that she'd ever fear Boyd to make a number of anything like that, but with everything being so meticulous here she instinctively feels the need to control herself a bit more as well. She never has the 'problem' of her own house being too tidy, her slightly bohemian nature and frequent visits of her beloved hyper-active grand-kids won't let that happen.

She takes place on living room couch and turns on the TV, but after trying several channels without finding anything interesting to watch gives up on it.

Boyd's got a lovely fireplace, but it looks neglected, unused for ages apparently. It's obvious that this house has served as a hotel suite for years, it's owner feeling himself much more at home in his office. She hopes to change it. That's one very solid reason she suggested to spend Christmas here and that fireplace has central part in her plans. She can picture it so well – the wonderful warmth of live fire, lots of candles all around to enhance the cosy and romantic atmosphere, a duvet and cushions to make them comfortable, some delicious snacks and good red wine naturally... Boyd will be complaining about the fuss of course, but in the end he'll love it, that much she knows the man. She just has to pick the right moment to introduce her ideas to him.

There isn't any sign of Boyd yet. Feeling rather tired, Grace decides to have a quick shower and change into pyjamas so she could wait for him snugly curled up in his comfortable bed. She picks herself a good book from Boyd's surprisingly vast home library and heads upstairs.

* * *

It's so nice to wake up and realise that you're not alone, that another warm human being is right there by your side. After so many years of living all by herself it took some time to get used to sharing bed. Now that she's learnt to cherish it again, Grace fully understands how much she's actually missed that wonderful sensation of love and security.

It's still very early in the morning, barely starting to get light outside. She must have passed out last night and therefore has no idea when exactly her bedmate arrived. Nor has she any recollection how did her reading glasses get on the bedside table where they now safely lie, alongside the book that's very considerately provided with a strip of paper to serve as bookmark.

The thought of usually so boisterous and noisy Boyd sneaking around quietly, careful not to wake her up, brings a happy smile on her face.

The dim morning light enables Grace to look around already. Her eye catches the pile of Boyd's clothes on the chair and she smirks knowingly, recognizing the item of clothing carelessly tossed on top of it. The fact that Boyd prefers sleeping stark-naked isn't itself shocking in any way - plenty of people do the same. Neither does she have any problem with that. It still surprises her that he felt himself totally free and comfortable in her company from the first moment while she still hasn't completely overcome some of her deep-rooted fears and uncertainties. A whole drawer in the bathroom closet is full of her pyjamas and nightgowns and she has no intention of giving up wearing them, but she has learnt to enjoy the blissful moments of unashamed liberty as well, the unfeigned desire in his eyes being the best ever self-confidence booster.

Boyd is still snoring softly, his hair ruffled against the pillow and cheeks stubbly. Such cute dishevelled look becomes him even better than the usual sleek and well-groomed appearance. His lips are slightly opened and Grace is very tempted to kiss him, but hasn't got the heart to wake him up just yet.

She flinches, startled by the sudden shrill sound of Boyd's mobile. He seems to have picked the most unpleasant one of all the melody options his smart phone has. It evidently proves most effective in case instant wakening at any odd hour is needed, but Grace truly considers suggesting him to choose some less ear-splitting alternative.

Boyd's arm reaches towards the source of irksome noise momentarily. His eyes snap open, and noticing she's awake too, his expression becomes apologetic. ''Sorry about that...''

''It's OK. I wasn't sleeping.'' She smiles reassuringly.

Boyd squints to see the number of the caller, and it being a strange one apparently, gives a confused shrug. He answers the phone, his voice gruff with sleep.

The female in the other end of the phone instantly starts an unceasing agitated tirade.

It takes a while before Boyd finally manages to cut in irritatedly. ''Why the hell are you calling me? What's that to do with me you've got no hot water in your house!?''

His expression turns thunderous and voice raises in accordance with that. ''No this is _not_ Benjy's 24 hour plumbing service! Where the hell did you get this number anyway?'' He grunts disdainfully. ''It's _definitely_ _not_ on any yellow pages, I can guarantee you that! I recommend you to go and recheck your phone-book!...Yeah, merry bloody Christmas to you too!''

He ends the call and sends the phone flying. Reckless as it may seem, the throw is very calculated and the object of his wrath lands safely in the pile of clothes on the chair. It's highly unlikely the shock resistant model gets harmed in any way.

''Fucking marvellous!'' Boyd shakes his head angrily. ''We get woken up at crack of dawn on Saturday morning just because some infuriating woman has got the wrong number!''

''Whatever you say,'' Grace chuckles, ''but your secret identity as Benjy the plumber is revealed now.''

He makes a face at that.

''There's nothing shameful in having such a profitable hobby,'' she continues mercilessly. ''Oh, and by the way, that old tap in my kitchen has started to drip recently...''

''Ha-ha, bloody hilarious!'' Boyd pulls the blanket up under his chin and suggests grumpily ''We should try to go back to sleep. There's nothing else to do that early.''

''Oh, I can argue that,'' Grace smiles slyly. ''There's quite a few things actually...''

''Like what!?'' That sulky pout is incredibly sexy for some mysterious reason, making him simply irresistible.

''Something like that to start with,'' she reaches to kiss him seductively.

He ignores her, closing his eyes and flattening his lips obstinately.

Grace decides to change tactics and slides her hand under the blanket. It really is an advantage not to have any disturbing clothes in the way towards her target.

Such unexpected attack makes Boyd yelp and she grins smugly.

The retaliation is surprisingly quick for a seemingly very sleepy man. One swift and elegant movement and she discovers herself pinned against the mattress, with Boyd's lips hot and ardent on her mouth. He lifts his head to catch breath, casting a triumphant look down at her.

She returns a syrupy smile. ''Now that you're fully awake, we can talk.''

Grace truly enjoys that momentary disbelief and despair in Boyd's expression.

''Got you! If only you could see your face!'', she giggles.

''How should I know what to expect from you!'' That angry growl is in direct contradiction with the tenderness he starts to nuzzle her neck with.

''We actually do have to discuss our holiday plans a bit,'' Grace still risks to remark.

He seems to pay attention, so she continues. ''We need to decide on what we want to eat and drink and whether we're going to have any decorations...''

''Anything you want,'' Boyd promises generously, with a hint of impatience in his voice.

''What I truly want is a real live fire in the fireplace.''

''Why? Are you cold?'' he wants to know, burying her in his burning hot embrace at the same time.

''It'll be lovely. And romantic. You'll fulfil my Christmas wish, won't you!?''

''Maybe.'' Boyd's grin turns devilish. ''Depending on whether you have been a good girl this year... And whether we're going to do something else besides talking any time soon!''


End file.
